


Scrap Heap

by AnonymousHeavyIndustries



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Never Met, Bromance, Fast Cars, Ficlet Collection, Fights, Flirting, M/M, Motorcycles, Profoundly Dumb Shit, Sexual Tension, Street Racing, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-09-01 20:18:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8636764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousHeavyIndustries/pseuds/AnonymousHeavyIndustries
Summary: Bits and pieces from the depths of the Industrial Works catalogue. Concepts that didn't quite make the leap to full stories, deleted scenes from stories that did, experimental content—all that and more can be found here.Most RecentSunday Agenda: enjoy a nice drive in the countryside, have dinner with girlfriend, catch up on shows.Unplanned Events: get abducted at gunpoint.It's not Sousuke's best day.





	1. 4.4 Seconds [Sou&Haru]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke gets the car of his dreams and ends up befriending the asshole bikie who nearly makes him wreck it.

At first he thought it was a chick—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting man wears a purple riding suit?—but his size suggested otherwise. Either way, idiots drove like idiots and he refused to have his night off ruined by some bikie cunt jackrabbiting into his lane. He blared his horn, the first and only warning he intended to deliver before he gave him a friendly nudge over the guard rail. Hopefully he swam better than he drove. The man looked over his shoulder and hit his brakes, sending Sousuke scrambling to stomp his own as the Blackbird's tail loomed in his view. Fine. He could have his precious lane all to himself. He moved to pass, but the bikie cut in front of him, brake checking him again.

Unpredictable, dangerous, _and_ an asshole. Real winner, this guy.

The bikie slowed to parallel with him and locked eyes, throttling just enough to give him the idea before the Blackbird hurtled shrieking into the night.

It was on.

Sousuke hunted the bikie through the winding mountain pass, watching his taillight's manic firefly flickering. He knew he could outspeed him, if only just, but he hadn't learned all of the Maranello's kinks yet and the curves came so sharp and sudden that testing its limits now would be asking for trouble, so he bided his time, figuring out how the bikie rode. The guy was suicidal, he decided twelve kilometres into the chase. No one sane would hit corners the way he did, knee nearly kissing the asphalt, deceleration more of a suggestion than a rule. He doubted there was anything left of his footpegs but a pair of ground down nubs. In short, he was one of those twats who would proudly ride themselves into an early grave and Sousuke, being a giving guy, was more than happy to help oblige his wish.

As Sousuke leapt to close the gap between them, the bikie abruptly slowed, dropping behind him.

"Fuck you!" Sousuke shouted as the headlamp became a speck of stardust in his rearview. The joker couldn't handle even a little heat.

He caught his breath, trying to loosen up, ignoring how he shook from the adrenaline, his hands aching on the wheel. He hadn't had a chance to throttle like that since he'd bought the Ferrari, despite that being the point of getting it in the first place. A crooked smile spread across his face, the tension swelling in his chest until it broke in a delirious, joyful laugh. The little fuck was good for something, he supposed.

A mighty roar seized his bones as the bike came tearing up the road past him. The bikie swung a hand up and shot him the bird, then disappeared behind the curve of the mountainside.

Speed limits, vehicular integrity, and common sense be damned, he was going to run that runt off the road. Or rather, that'd be the plan if the noise ordinance signs cropping up weren't there to signal the road seguing back into residential traffic areas. He caught up with the Blackbird and tailed him to the parking lot of a 7-Eleven. If he didn't get to see how high a bike could backflip off his hood, he'd at least have some choice words with its rider.

Figuring he hadn't shown off enough, the bikie ripped himself out of time to nail a pitch-perfect stoppie, meshing with his bike into an organometallic system hanging high in the summer night. His rear tire thumped to the ground with a resounding thud. He kicked out his stand and removed his helmet, exposing dark hair plastered to his neck with sweat. He sat wiping bugs from his visor, the painted scales of the helmet shell catching the yellow sodium glow of the streetlamps as Sousuke leapt out of the car.

"Hey buddy, what's your fuckin problem?"

The guy glanced up for a brief moment to appraise him and decided that his helmet was far more interesting. "I could be asking you the same."

"You jumped in front of me!"

"I was avoiding a pothole. You didn't see it?"

"I don't care if you were avoiding a busload of nuns on their way to the children's hospital. You barely signalled."

"Get your eyes checked. I gave you plenty of warning."

"And how much warning did you give before you brake checked me?"

"I don't like being honked at by idiots who buy cars they can't drive."

Resisting the urge to grab him by the collar and make his pretty face match his jacket, Sousuke jabbed his finger in the guy's chest. "Next time I see you on the road, I'm making you into a hood ornament."

The bikie finished cleaning his helmet and put it back on. Fragments of his wry smile crept out from behind his chinbar.

"I'll be looking forward to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story Notes:  
> The title comes from Sousuke's car of choice: the 2001 Ferrari 550 Maranello. According to Ferrari, the 0-100km/h [or the ~0-60mph] time is 4.4 seconds. I checked a few other sources and they seem to affirm this, give or take a couple tenths of a second. Since 4.2 Seconds or 4.5 Seconds are significantly less catchy titles, I went with Ferrari on this one. Haru's ride is the 1999 Honda CBR1100XX Super Blackbird, which may sound familiar if you read [Café Fellows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8214988).
> 
> Speaking of Haru, he has four almost identical black/purple helmets and the Future Fish helmet. Aside from minor pattern variations, the main difference between his normal helmets are the visor tints and the style: three are full face, one is modular. Choosing which one to wear is almost as hard as choosing his swimsuit. [The Future Fish helmet is full face and has a clear visor.] The black/white/purple riding suit is custom fitted. The Haru in this universe and the Haru in the Café Fellows universe have a lot of money to burn, though for different reasons. Sousuke is a former Olympic champion and currently coaches at the university level.
> 
> Background Notes: I did about 3.4k words of scenes and story outline before dropping it. Upon rereading this I realized that the reason why it dead-ended was because there were two main plot threads that refused to twine together the way I wanted them to because they were conceptually different stories. Thread A: Sousuke's developing friendship with Haru. Thread B: Sousuke becoming unsatisfied with his relationship and cheating on his girlfriend with a married man [not Haru]. Thread B was oriented around the idea of gay guys who marry women for the sake of keeping their family or society happy, Thread A was just pure bromance and sharing a love of going fast. Thread A ended up partially repurposed for Café Fellows and I'm still cannibalizing bits and pieces of the stuff that didn't get used for another story. Thread B I'll have to sit on for a while before I figure out if there's anything I want to do with that.
> 
> If something's not working, it may not be that the individual pieces are bad, it's that they're not the right pieces for a given story. Think of it like mixing together a couple of puzzles. One is a picture of horses running through fields and the other is a mountain landscape. There are enough connections that you can force stuff to fit together, but it's not going to turn out the way you wanted it to. [And it'll look like shit to boot.]
> 
> Criticism is not only welcome, but encouraged, and I'll answer any questions that you have. Thanks for reading.  
> 27 November 2016  
> \- 匿名重工業


	2. 4.4 Seconds [2] [Sou&Haru]

With his weekend clear and Gou away on assignment in Osaka, Sousuke had taken the Maranello out planning to go nowhere fast, put an easy hundred kilometres or so under his belt while he soaked in the scenery before heading home and curling up on the couch with some much needed booze and whatever explosion-and-chase-scene-laden action flick he could find on TV before he had to return to the demands of coaching his pack of neurotic twenty-somethings without attempting to drown them in the pool. The black and purple eyesore sprawled out on his hood like a cheesecake model put a mighty large crimp in that plan.

"The fuck're you doing?" he growled as he passed the Blackbird parked a couple metres from his car, wondering if he could take a swing with his six-pack and not cave in the windscreen if he missed.

The bikie cocked his head, sinking deeper into the metal. "You said you needed a hood ornament."

"You got ten seconds to get your ass off my car."

The riding suit squealed as the bikie melted towards the sun-blazed grille, stopping when his heels hit the ground and his ass hung just off the hood. Sousuke seized him by the jacket and yanked him to his feet. "You trying to start something?"

He lifted higher, arm flexing thick under the strain, but the bikie remained unmoved by the near complete departure of his feet from the asphalt. "Have you learned to drive your deathbox yet?"

"Why don't you come and find out?" He released the bikie, who straightened up and traced a long, lingering stare down his chest towards his groin. "Hell're you looking at?"

"Sorry you had to spend that much to make yourself feel like a man. A pump would've been cheaper."

Face surging hot, Sousuke grabbed his cock and hollered, "We'll see how small you think it is when you're sucking on it after you lose!"

The bikie mounted the Blackbird with a smirk and flicked down his visor. Sousuke slammed his door as he piled into the Ferrari and stabbed the key into the ignition, watching the bikie crawl to the exit of the parking lot. The engine roared to life as he went into gear and crept after him, suppressing the intense need to stomp the accelerator and end his torment. It'd been a long time since someone had got under his skin the way this guy did. No matter. He just had to thrash him on the road.

Simple enough.

* * *

 

"Fuck you." He had neither the time nor composure for eloquence. "Fuck you, fuck your bird, fuck your—fuck your stupid ass riding suit. Next time I see you, you're done for. I hope you got a grave stone picked out."

With a bemused shake of his head, the bikie patted the roof of the car as if to say, "You tried," and pulled back into the road. Sousuke waited for the Blackbird to disappear before pressing his face into the rim of his steering wheel til it hurt. He'd committed himself to a twenty-two million yen car and he couldn't beat a fucking bike. He had the horsepower advantage, the better machine, the more _expensive_ machine, that should be what mattered most. There was a guts factor, he knew that, the son of a bitch was bursting at the seams with 'em, but that shouldn't be enough to explain getting his shit pushed in twice in a row. It shouldn't, but it did. No matter how much he pretended, that asshole was in another dimension of skill and knew it.

Sousuke jammed his face harder against the wheel, deepening the ache. He'd spent so much time as a champion—neck heavy with medals, winning and losing by milliseconds—that he'd forgotten what it was like to come up against someone who could wreck him so thoroughly and the only thing he could blame for the gap was himself. He didn't know the Ferrari the way that asshole knew his Honda. In the moments when he _got_ it, when his consciousness fused with that of the Maranello and became greater than himself, more powerful than he could ever dream, an almost sexual thrill rushed through his veins, but as fast as those moments came on, an overwhelming sense of fear loomed over him and the icy touch of its breath on his neck forced him to switch gears to something more manageable. He hadn't even dared try running in top gear yet and the realization made his stomach churn.

 _Awful lot of car to handle, isn't it?_ His coworkers had mused the first time he brought it to work, smiling like they knew best even though twenty percent of them only ever drove shitboxes and the rest didn't drive at all. _You're going to hurt yourself if you're not careful._

The bitterness in his throat lurched upward and he clenched the wheel tighter, trying to stay its advance. At the end of the day, it was a car and cars were meant to be driven. Some required more muscle and finesse than others, but he could handle it. He knew he could. He'd spent nine years operating at the peak of human performance, a car was nothing in comparison. All he needed was a little more time.

There came a knocking at his window. Cops, he assumed, just what he needed. He twisted his head up, feeling the wheel imprint flood with warmth as he met a windscreen obscured by a familiar figure. Reluctantly he rolled down the window, mustering up every drop of venom circulating through his system. Faster he got this over with, the faster he could get back to flagellating himself over his performance.

"Off the hood, shitheel. How many times am I gonna have to tell you that?"

The bikie dismounted and went around the side to sit shotgun, brandishing a plastic bag from a conbini up the way.

"I don't recall inviting you in here. And don't think I'm gonna suck you off cause you won."

The man rolled his eyes and shoved an egg salad sandwich, a package of sliced veggies, and a business card into his hand. "This road isn't a good place to practice if you're learning how to handle a car this powerful. One of my friends works at a track near here. Tell him Blackbird sent you, he'll give you a discount on lessons."

Sousuke crumpled the business card and dropped it on the floor. "I know how to drive."

"Any idiot can drive fast in a straight line and you're barely managing that. You over-revved so hard I could hear it over my bike. You're going to shred your transmission before you get a thousand kilometres on it." Sousuke cringed inwardly as he recalled how he'd overshot no less than two downshifts and dropped from fifth to second instead of fourth. "How many manuals have you driven?"

Aside from the shitty 4-speed Nissan B11 that'd carried him through uni, all his cars had been automatics. But Blackbird probably expected that and he wanted to feed into his internal narrative about as much as he wanted to get his teeth punched down his throat. "None of your business."

Blackbird wedged a frigid can of soda square between Sousuke's thighs and Sousuke wondered if he did it to catch him off guard or if this was some fucked up roundabout method of flirting. Granted, it might've also been because the yokels who designed the car decided cupholders weren't important so there wasn't anywhere else _for_ him to put it, but still, best keep that suspicion earmarked. Gou already hated the car and he didn't need her adding 'attracts handsome gay assholes' to her Reasons to Sell shitlist. (The guy was handsome, as much as he loathed to admit it, especially in these rare moments when he had his helmet off.) "There are better starter cars if you wanted to go this route, though I don't know why you would. Most sportscars are automatic now."

"I wanted a Ferrari, but I didn't want to bankrupt myself."

"Why?"

"Because it's a Ferrari," he said simply.

Blackbird stared at him with a resigned disdain that made the temperature of the cabin drop ten degrees. "You might be too stupid to save."

Before he could offer a rebuttal, Blackbird climbed out of the car, leaving another business card in the passenger seat. On one side was the silhouette of a bird and a block of contact info blacked out with marker. On the back in slanting script was written, _Please help this idiot._

That one he crumpled too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story Notes  
> Far as I'm aware, there's an open pocket in the centre console of the 550 but no cupholder. I'm sure you could fit a drink in it, but I get the feeling it would bang around and spill soda all over your fancy car or flip out because it's not properly secured.
> 
> Background Notes  
> Unlike the previous bit of 4.4, this was 100% new and not derived from the preexisting junked draft, because I still like this AU even separate from the Café Fellows universe. Whoops. Ain't gonna make a habit of that, I swear. I got some Sou&Ai stuff from a different story that'll probably be next chapter. Either that or one of the deleted scenes from one of my other upcoming projects. I'll try to get one or both of those out quickly to make up for the lack of updates in December. I was disappointed I broke my streak after it'd been going so well, but I do still try to maximize my writing time each day and intend to continue on a monthly update schedule regardless of events in my personal life even if updates are not as huge.
> 
> Criticism is not only welcome, but encouraged, and I'll answer any questions that you have. Thanks for reading.  
> 11 January 2017  
> \- 匿名重工業


	3. 4.4 Seconds [3] [Sou&Haru]

Cheat days meant one thing: a sandwich the size of his head and a couple bottles of the tooth-rottingest cola he could find. The sandwich joint was fresh out his preferred poison, so he'd hit up the nearest conbini to restock and snagged a few odds and ends for Gou in celebration of nothing in particular. Humming as he flicked through his keys, he headed back to his car, dreaming of hot, meaty goodness sliding down his throathole, gooey cheese, seared green peppers, and sauce whose recipe he'd sell a kidney for. He settled into his seat and cracked open a cola.

"We're going to the track."

Sousuke fumbled his drink. Kicked back in the passenger's seat, heels on the dash, was Blackbird. "What—how—get out!"

Blackbird daintily extracted the soda from his grasp and tucked it into the centre console pocket as if he hadn't said anything. "Makoto says you haven't gone to the track yet. I figured you must've gotten lost."

"I swear to god, if you damaged my car—" Sousuke ran his hands over the door panel, having no idea what to look for to identify a break-in beyond a smashed window and since he wasn't sitting in a pile of glass, he doubted that was how Blackbird got in. Must be some kind of magic bullshit. "You're a goddamn stalker, that's what you are. I can't believe this. An actual flesh and blood stalker in this day and age. I mean, fuck, I'm on Facebook, stalk me on there like a normal person."

"Give me the keys."

"How about no. You get one last chance, that's it. Get out or the police are getting involved."

Blackbird rolled his eyes and climbed hand over boot-clad foot across the console to settle in Sousuke's lap. He smelled like the inside of a fetish club, leather and sweat and questionable decisions.

"Whoa, hey now, what the hell're you—"

"Move your feet."

Crazy. Certifiable padded-room pill jockey, nutcase with no cracker, bunny boiling psycho on a bike. Not that it wasn't obvious, but hell, if he didn't double down on it. "Are you high?"

"Move your feet. You're blocking the pedals." Clinging leather rubbed against his jeans as the bikie made himself comfortable, his small, but disturbingly supple ass spreading wide in his lap. Sousuke swore he could hear him smirk. "Don't worry, I have experience doing this."

Whether he meant carjacking or driving in stranger's laps, Sousuke didn't care. He bearhugged the intruder, fumbling for the door latch. Blackbird flung his head back, smashing stars and spots into Sousuke's vision. Sousuke clutched his aching nose, shouting an incoherent curse as Blackbird flipped over, body grinding in close as he pointed something dark and metal at his face.

Sousuke stared down the revolver's matte black barrel to the finger resting calmly on the trigger guard, hands trembling at his sides. "That can't be real."

Blackbird pressed the cold muzzle to Sousuke's chin, digging into the hollow where his mandible rounded beneath his incisors. "Can't it?"

It sure as shit felt real, if nothing else. "What do you want? Money? The car? I don't give a fuck if you empty my wallet, but you're not getting the car."

"Move your feet or switch sides." He wasn't asking again.

"I'm switching seats, okay? Don't shoot." Sousuke wriggled out from beneath him, manoeuvring in the narrow cab until he was sat in the passenger side. He surrendered his keys before Blackbird could ask for them. "Don't go thinking you can handle this because you're good on a bike. Whatever you break, you're paying for."

"I don't ride a bike because I hate cars."

Pistons afire, mirrors adjusted, in gear and out the lot. The revolver laid quiet in Blackbird's lap, close enough to tantalize, but not so close that Sousuke could get to it before Blackbird could. He decided to console himself with his sandwich.

"Where'd you put my—"

Blackbird gestured to the passenger side footwell. There was a wadded up ball of sandwich wrap sitting in the corner.

"That makes us even."

Sousuke had never known a hatred as vivid and intense as the one he felt right now.

—

Blackbird hopped out of the car and tossed the keys to a doe-eyed mechanic in green coveralls.

"He's your problem now. Kisumi's taking me to pick up my bike."

A man in an eyesearing floral print shirt and lavender slacks descended on scene, chasing after the bikie for what looked to be a hug. Blackbird swatted him away, keeping a strict armlength of pavement between them as they headed for the parking lot.

The mechanic cleared his throat and gave a short bow. "It's nice to finally meet you. What do you want to get started with?"

"I'm getting started with calling the cops because I got carjacked by a lunatic."

"He really didn't mean anything bad by it. Haru's normally a nice guy, but he can be very... forceful when he wants to."

"He kidnapped me in my own car and ate my sandwich. That's as far away from nice as you can get without killing somebody."

"If it makes you feel any better, he did the same to Kisumi when he started driving. You came all the way here—"

" _At gunpoint_."

"—why not take your baby out for a spin? It's a slow day, we have most of the track to ourselves, and it'll be a while before they return. Kisumi likes the scenic route. You can deal with him however you think's best when they get back, but let's have a little fun for now."

Somehow the mechanic eventually coerced him into the car. He (and the stitchwork over his breast pocket) said his name was Makoto and he was a catastrophically nice guy who loved children, volunteered at a local animal shelter, and had no business being in the thrall of that bikie dickhole.

"Why don't you put her through her paces and we'll see how it goes."

The first go around was exploratory, learning the layout of the track, sussing out the height changes and curves. He took note of potential trouble spots—wicked sharp chicanes, borderline unfair in his eyes—and on the second lap he settled in to this strange environment and felt himself synchronizing with his car. By the third, he'd slipped into the zone. Every shift was butter smooth, the Maranello's responses instant and gratifying. Makoto occasionally commanded him to change to a specific gear, which he did without question. The more he drove, the more excited he grew, feeling a sense of confidence that he'd never had.

And then Makoto said, "On this next long straight, go top."

He dropped out of the zone. It took a few seconds to work up the nerve wrench the stick into position and the Maranello came alive beneath him, roaring louder than it ever had before. The monstrous, godawful noise burrowed in his ears, writhed in his marrow as the needle crept closer to red. The car was no longer part of him. It was in control now.

He tore his foot off the accelerator and rapidly dropped back to 4th, 3rd, 2nd. He limped around a curve in 1st like a wounded deer.

Makoto eyed him a moment, then said, "That's okay."

He completed three more excruciating laps and came to a stop, shaking in his seat. He'd fumbled several downshifts, went into one curve dangerously fast, and understeered into a second and nearly gone off track. Makoto's gaze had a tangible weight, climbing into his chest to roost with all the other _I told you sos_ and pitiable stares. Fuck him. Fuck him and the rest of them. They didn't know anything about him or what he was capable of.

He clutched the gearstick, stubborn. "I know how to drive."

Makoto laid his hand atop Sousuke's and kindly said, "No you don't."

Sousuke reached for the door.

"Wait wait wait, that was rude of me," Makoto paused, trying to parse his next thought. "It's not that you're a bad driver, you're just inexperienced. You kind of... get overwhelmed when trying to handle at higher speeds. But we can work on that."

"I can figure it out myself."

"I know you can. I never said you couldn't. But it'll take a lot more time if you don't have someone to guide you." Makoto stroked Sousuke's arm like it was an animal that needed comforting.

"What, you wanna be my coach for the day?"

"You want to beat Haru, right? I've raced him more than anyone else."

Grinding his teeth, Sousuke sank back into the driver's seat, hand ready on the stick.

—

They got a few more laps in before Sousuke noticed Haru on the side of the track sipping on some stupid brand name water, because of course tap water wasn't good enough for him. Twats were the same everywhere, bikie or otherwise. He probably did Crossfit and spent hours bragging about his organic bean garden. He probably had ten cats named after royalty. He probably stuck his pinky up while he sucked his boyfriend's dick.

Fuck, now he had the image of that asshole sucking dicks stuck in his head.

He slammed on the brakes so hard he could smell rubber burning and lunged out of the car in stomping, stumbling strides, Makoto hot on his heels. As Haru loomed in his view, he broke into a sprint, fist cutting through the air in a right straight. The water bottle flipped off to space, Haru ragdolled on the track. A few seconds later, Haru sat up, paying no mind to his split lip or the blood that snaked down his chin.

Sousuke stood over him and flung his arms wide. "If you wanna shoot me, better do it now. Come on! Do it!"

Haru rolled to his feet and headed for his bike. "You're practicing with Kisumi's car next week. Same time. See you then."

Sousuke watched the Blackbird roar across the track. "That guy belongs in an institution."

"He likes you," Makoto assured him, as if that was something desirable.

"If this is what he does to people he likes, I'm glad I'm not his enemy."

"Still mad about the sandwich?"

" _Extremely._ " His stomach gurgled in wrathful agreement. "Whatever, I'm outta here. I've got a dinner to go to."

Makoto tailed after him, matching him stride for stride. "About what Haru said—it would be great to have you back. You were making progress. Plus you'll get to try out all kinds of fun cars for free! I have access to pretty much every name you can think of. Maserati, Jaguar, Aston Marten, Porsche... Got hold of a Tesla a couple weeks ago, if you're into that kind of thing. You like American muscle cars? I can get you in one. Or something more oldschool. How about a Bugatti Type 57?"

"You're not gonna bribe me." He had standards. There wasn't a car in the world that could make him want to hang around that smarmy fuck for more than a minute.

"I have a Ferrari 288 GTO."

Sousuke froze. The GTO had been one of the cars that had gotten him into the brand. He'd seen on it TV as a kid and had been smitten ever since. He remembered it in perfect clarity: racing red, slick as hell, cruising across the screen effortlessly. No need for a driver. It was its own master.

"...I don't have to talk to him?"

"You don't even have to look at him, if you don't want."

Sousuke dug his phone out of his pocket and lowered his standards a couple more rungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story Notes  
> Haru's gun: Sturm Ruger LCR .38 Special + P, DAO. I finally get to call Haru by his name, it's a good day.
> 
> Background Notes  
> Still working on the glory hole story because, as with [Ride the Line](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713339), I'm a lying liar who lies about updates. I mentioned previously that I had a "disgusting" amount of backlogged content to edit [which for the sake of transparency is in the neighbourhood of 150k words] and I could try to excuse it by saying that life has been getting in the way lately because it has, but that's still slacking and is therefore unacceptable. The first half of the glory hole fic will be posted on 15 Oct.
> 
> Criticism is not only welcome, but encouraged, and helps me create better content in the future. Thanks for reading.  
> 27 September 2017  
> \- 匿名重工業


End file.
